Epic of Finnigan
by brainthief
Summary: A mock-epic about Seamus Finnigan's heroics in his quest to help a girl in need.


**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not her.

* * *

Ye Gods of Yule, recount the tale of he  
who, young in years, still showed himself a man  
and quite epitomizes chivalry;  
please speak to us of Seamus Finnegan.

Tell of his quest to win a maiden's hand,  
as fraught with strife and danger it became,  
and speak of how he stood and fought and planned,  
how nothing could distract him from his aim.

The curfew he ignored without regard  
for repercussions that might fall on him  
was levied as a threat when, caught off guard,  
he faced a cunning, evil Slytherin.

"I'll tell Professor Snape!" Zabini said,  
elated at the fortunate event  
to find something to hold o'er Seamus's head.  
"Unless of course you now give your assent

to grant to me three favours later on."  
He threateningly gestured with his wand.  
While thinking quickly, Seamus mimed a yawn,  
'til he found something witty to respond.

"I don't care what you want," he said, "for I  
could also tell a teacher you were out."  
He shivered at the glint in Blaise's eye.  
"I think they'll care a whole lot more about

the bottle in your hand; that you are drunk."  
Zabini followed that up with a shout.  
"Confundo!" Seamus moved and with a clunk  
the bottle met his head, knocking him out.

"I guess that proves I'm not the drunk you thought,"  
he spoke triumphantly towards his bested foe.  
Although he'd drank a bit more than he ought  
as his steps showed: they were unsure and slow.

"Dissendium." A statue moved aside.  
He braved the passage, wand lit at the tip.  
The tunnel was a long one and he sighed  
and thought to the beginning of this trip.

The Yule ball over, he had sought a loo;  
spiked punch had been in plentiful supply.  
The second floor had one without a queue,  
though once inside he noticed a girl cry.

"A girls loo!" he exclaimed, filled with dismay.  
There was no other place to pee in sight!  
His brain processed the sound and he did say  
with tenderness and care, "Are you all right?"

The sobbing girl stayed locked up in her stall,  
but Seamus coaxed and prodded her to share  
her tale with him and sat against the wall  
to listen as the girl laid her hart bare.

"I never got to see a ball," she cried.  
"No dress, no invitation, not a dance.  
No goodnight kiss or moonlit walks outside.  
It's hard to know I'll never have that chance."

"I'm sorry that nobody asked you out,"  
he said sincerely. "Someone surely will  
be yours to escort next time; I've no doubt.  
Of dances, kisses, walks you'll have your fill."

"In fact," he added, trying not to slur  
his words together, hoping she'd agree  
to his proposal, not instead incur  
her wrath. "Next time go to the ball with me."

The crying stilled but she seemed unconvinced.  
"You don't know who you're talking to, do you?"  
"Correct," the Irish lad confessed and winced.  
"What I just said is nonetheless still true."

He heard a sigh and then she said, "You're sweet.  
To try and cheer a girl up when she's down.  
You just don't know enough yet to succeed."  
Her words caused Seamus Finnegan to frown.

"Please tell me who you are?" he asked in vain.  
"Just go and leave," she yelled and her voice cracked.  
Dismayed, he heard her start to cry again.  
Well, if his words won't help he would just act.

He stumbled to his feet and his head spun,  
the bottle in his hand the reason why.  
"I'll run an errand for you. When I'm done  
you will not have a reason left to cry."

And so began his journey through the school  
and through the tunnel, stone floor rife with pits.  
The long, dark, pathway led the lad this Yule  
to the trap door that led to sug'ry bliss.

The cellar he was in was filled with wares,  
though Christmas gifts had clearly made a dent.  
He cautiously made his way up the stairs;  
he was in Honeydukes without consent.

Alone inside the shop he looked around,  
balloons and streamers sparkling in the light  
his wand gave off and walked without a sound  
until he had the chocolate bars in sight.

His Mum had given plenty of advice,  
the most of which he soon forgot about,  
but if she had bad feelings to excise  
then chocolate always managed to help out.

So Seamus took a basket, which he filled  
with bars of the good stuff, only to grin.  
The girl for which he did this might be thrilled  
if he put other sweets as well therein.

In fifteen minutes time the lad amassed  
impressive piles of sweets to give away.  
But when he wished to leave he found, aghast,  
that he had not with him the means to pay.

The galleons that he owned were in his dorm  
He hadn't thought he'd need them at the ball.  
'Be noble' was in Gryffindor the norm  
so theft was not acceptable at all.

He anxiously ran fingers through his hair.  
He didn't want to have to travel thrice,  
but neither would he leave his treasure there.  
Did he have something else to pay the price?

With nothing on his person he could trade  
he sought another method to address  
his problem because nothing could persuade  
him not to help a damsel in distress.

His eyes to empty shelves and racks were drawn:  
there was left but a single Chocolate Frog!  
The Ice Mice and the Fudge Flies were all gone.  
So to pay off his debt he could restock!

The fifth time Seamus carried up a crate  
he stumbled and his elbow hit a stack  
of Cauldron Cakes that crashed under its weight.  
Another pile he'd now have to put back.

He knew not of the hour of the clock  
when he was done, except for very late.  
He wrote down, lest the owner die of shock,  
a note on parchment with a quill to state:

"Dear sir or ma'm, I'm sorry for the theft,  
but circumstances led me to your store.  
The shame, would I ignore a girl bereft  
of happiness would haunt me evermore.

In payment for the goods I took I tried  
to clean and stock and tidy up the place.  
I beg you: let my indiscretion slide;  
there shan't be a repeat of this disgrace."

There was no time to write down any more:  
he picked up the uncomfortable sound  
of Apparating just outside the door!  
Stock-still, he heard two Aurors goof around.

"A burglary at Christmas is a vile  
and wretched thing to do!" one of them claimed.  
"It's evil far beyond even the style  
of lackeys of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"You there, inside!" the other shouted next.  
"Throw out your wand and exit or you'll find  
yourself in pain, irrevocably hexed.  
We're not that patient; best move your behind!"

In panic Seamus sought a way to stall,  
to stop the pair from chasing him, and soon.  
Trembling in fear, he found nothing at all  
until his eye was drawn to a balloon.

He quickly nabbed it, moving to the back,  
retrieving too the quill he'd used to write.  
He Nox'ed his wand leaving the room pitch black.  
Eyes closed he hoped his plan would work all right.

A jab. The quill pierced the balloon. It popped.  
In silence he hid in the secret route.  
and listened 'til the Aurors' voices dropped.  
They thought that he had Apparated out.

They sounded baffled, something about wards;  
their talk went frankly way over his head.  
Relieved he judged it time to head towards  
this venture's reason. She found him instead.

He turned; his face was inches from a ghost.  
His hand covered his mouth stifling a shriek.  
It looked like she died young, fifteen at most.  
His eyes went wide when she began to speak.

"I followed you; I thought you were a creep,  
like all the bullies that have come before."  
Things clicked. "You're her! The girl that I heard weep!  
But you're a ghost!" It shocked him to the core.

Her glare turned icy. "Did or did I not  
implore you to leave well enough alone?"  
Her eyes turned misty. "I don't fit the slot  
of damsel. You'd not bother had you known."

The hopes of kissing he'd covertly held,  
seemed less attractive, knowing she was dead.  
Ashamed to prove her right he felt compelled  
to reassure her anyway. He said,

"When all I knew was that there was a miss,  
upset, alone and crying in the loo,  
I set out and acquired for you this:  
a gift, something a date might get for you."

Surprised she quieted and took a peek.  
Triumphant Seamus showed off all he had,  
expecting happiness yet heard a shriek.  
He didn't understand why she'd be mad.

"What good is this when I can't taste or touch?  
Are you just mocking Myrtle like the rest?"  
The hurt in her voice hurt him just as much.  
For all her wailing, he had done his best.

He'd battled with a Slytherin and won.  
He'd travelled a great distance and worked hard.  
He'd nearly been arrested but pressed on.  
Did that at least not earn him some regard?

The point was that his quest was unfulfilled:  
he'd aimed to cheer her up and yet she cried.  
His feet sore, his enthusiasm killed,  
fatigued and tipsy, Seamus knew he'd tried.

But failure sat not well with him. He thought  
of all the things she'd said she'd never done.  
She had no use for all the things he'd brought,  
but maybe he could give her just the one.

With care he picked a single chocolate rose,  
its silky petals taunting them this night.  
He focused on the will to cure her woes  
and cast on it a jet of sick green light.

He slumped unconscious, all his magic spent  
in his emotion-fuelled gallant deed.  
As such, he missed her stopping her lament,  
that in his quest he managed to succeed.

For Myrtle rev'rently reached out and touched  
a ghostly rose and shed a single tear.  
With wonder on her face she shyly clutched  
it to her chest. She vowed to keep it near.

The gift was magical; it was unique.  
She eyed the giver. "A nice boy," she mused  
and while he slept she kissed him on the cheek,  
his past insensitivity excused.

And so did Finnegan's adventure end:  
with outfoxed foes, cleared hurdles, muscles sore,  
sad tears turned happy on his lady friend,  
booze gone and with him passed out on the floor.

* * *

A/N: Written for the Points and Prompts Competition - Round 2 using prompts 1-3, 5, 8-12.

A big thank you to my sister who suggested writing an epic.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


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